


S.O.S.

by ElvenSemi



Series: Inspiration [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Short, gratuitous flirtation, maybe just a little bit of foot fetish, music inspired, ongoing series, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An inexperienced Lavellan unintentionally becomes a heartbreaker, and has to learn how it feels to be on the receiving end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S.O.S. [Part 1]

It wasn’t long before Lavellan, the brand new Herald of Andraste, began getting a… reputation around Haven. 

Unlike some clans, who had an unfortunate surplus of magic, requiring magically blessed children to be cast elsewhere, Clan Lavellan had always been direly without. Generation after generation, no mages were born. Always, firsts had to be taken from other clans like scraps. Our own Herald was one of those scraps. But because of the clan’s lack of magic, she had been taken very… seriously, by the Keeper and the others, from the very day she had arrived. She could never say the clan had been unwelcoming. They were quick to make her feel important, certainly. But her life from the second she had arrived had been very serious. Studying, so much to learn, duties, the whole clan will depend on you one day, you must- there is no chance we will be able to obtain to have a Second, you must- 

Perhaps, with such a contained upbringing, it was inevitable. She had very rarely been around elves her age for long, not in a social way. All treated her with stiff respect, as if she were a precious elvhen artifact. The casual flirtation she began receiving at Haven was at first alien, and then… appealing. 

Simply put, she gained a reputation as a heartbreaker. Used to the feeling of being important, she took to being the center of attention in a new way like a fish took to water. Varric was a harmless target at the beginning, since they were very clearly not serious, but he was not her only target. 

“Cassandra, you’re like a force of nature,” she would trill when Cassandra made a particularly impressive take down. 

“Did you have… anyone special, back in Kirkwall?” she would press Cullen, standing a little too close. 

“You’re quite charming,” to Blackwall, with a smile that could only be described as simpering. 

She quite enjoyed it. Iron Bull and Varric gave back as good as they got, Cassandra and Cullen would get so cutely flustered. It seemed to her like no matter the reaction, it was good fun. But while Cassandra had no interest, nor did Varric, and Iron Bull knew a joke when he saw one, Cullen and Blackwall were in no position to withstand the elven apostate’s eyelash batting onslaught. 

It was not long, of course, before she turned her flirtation cannons onto Solas, the serious faced elf. She had been hesitant at first… He seemed a rather sober minded fellow, and, to be blunt, he intimidated her. She had made the dire mistake early in their acquaintance of asking him about elven culture. A chip on his shoulder had emerged quickly in regard to the Dalish. His words came fast and stung her unexpectedly. Her Keeper had perhaps never spoken an unkind word to her in her life, and she was not experienced with burning disapproval, whether aimed at her or her culture. She snapped back, confused, but as he continued to speak, lips tight and face stern, she began to understand what he meant. Her pride still burned afterwards, however; she avoided him for a while afterwards. They had since had pleasant conversations, but she was once bitten, twice shy, skittish after her first run in with unexpected fangs. 

But as the attentions, whether serious or joking, of other men in Haven built up her confidence, one day she decided to slip some casual flirtation into a conversation with Solas. She wanted to see how he would react, badly. Would he fluster, like Cassandra? She just had to know. She *had* to see it. 

The opportunity arose during a conversation about spirits and the Fade as they sat side by side on a snow covered hill outside of Haven proper. Lavellan was not fond of houses, unaccustomed to the idea of going inside four walls and closing a door. She retreated to the woods often, and only responsibility and a desire for conversation could drive her back into the unfamiliar walls. 

Solas had gone unexpectedly into what she referred to in her mind as Keeper-mode, where part way through a conversation, he would begin teaching. Or perhaps lecturing was a more proper word, but that implied she didn’t enjoy it, which would have been too shameful a lie for her to even consider. A lifetime of perfectionism had instilled in her a thirst for knowledge, and Solas had plenty of it to satiate her. 

“You have a fascinating way of looking at the world,” she sighed, sending him a long glance sideways. It didn’t seem to garner any reaction. Mildly frustrated as he continued in Keeper-mode, speaking of his friends in the Fade, she turned it up a little. 

“I would love to help you make new… _friends_ ,” she said in a voice that had one sent a rosy blush onto Cullen’s cheeks. She smiled slightly, tilting her head down so that she was looking up at him. She had discovered it accidentally in an innocent (well, mostly innocent) conversation with Blackwall, and learned it was a very effective technique. To her delight, Solas had indeed glanced over at her, perhaps because of her dodge of the question he had posed, and she could almost see the aravel of his thoughts throw a wheel. Was that a flush?! He looked away so quickly, then changed the subject, but the evil little smile on her face made it clear she had caught his reaction. She walked away thinking it a victory, fiendish glee making her extra hard on Cullen, running a hand across his chest as she feigned fascination with the fabric of his vest. She all but skipped away from him, in a fantastic mood, and unaware of the watching eyes of one elven apostate from the corner of a nearby building. 

She was unable to coax another reaction out of Solas, and he was good at shutting her down, so in the following weeks, Lavellan focused her attentions largely on Blackwall and especially poor Cullen, who was, unbeknownst to her, quietly losing his mind , conflicted and lusting over this unstable elven apostate. Then, for the first time, she was first caught off guard by Blackwall, introduced to the concept of consequences to her newest game. When his lips brushed against hers, she stiffened, panicked, and he noticed. He apologized profusely for over-stepping, and she brushed him off, laughing, but as he walked away, she was off balance. She had said cruder things to Varric, and he had never wanted to kiss her. She grappled with alternating feelings of embarrassment and guilt, uncertain of where, exactly, she had gone so differently as to garner such a different outcome. And still unaware that she was not the only witness to her internal turmoil. 

-

Varric was the one she asked for advice, since the idea of asking her normal font of wisdom, Solas, was for some reason absolutely out of the question the second she thought of it. 

“Well, what did you expect, twinkle-toes?” he said with a chuckles. “You do know what the primary function of flirtation is, don’t you?” 

“O-of course!” she stammered, softly stomping a foot into the snow and turning slightly to hide a slight flush. “Well… I mean… You know, of course, the Dalish do things differently, more… Um… Reserved.” 

“Uh-huh. Yes, you’re very reserved. Tell me, twinkle-toes, just how many suitors did you have back home?” 

“Erm…”

“Was I unclear? I’m asking after your lurid private affairs. Your lovers. Your men of the night.” 

“I understand,” she snapped, flushed. “I, just, erm…” 

“You can’t expect me to believe you’d be private now, after asking the same of our Knight-Commander.” 

“NONE, OKAY. NONE. THERE WERE NONE.” She burst, far more loudly than she intended. She clamped both hands over her mouth, sending frantic glances around her for anyone who might have overheard. Fortunately for Solas, an unintentional listener to this particular conversation from where he sat behind a building, stretching a hide, neither he nor anyone else was within her line of sight, and she continued in an only slightly lower voice. “The Keeper was *very insistent* that I keep my mind on my studies. Anything could happen to her, and the Clan would need me.” 

“Uh huh. So what you’re saying is that you’ve not only not had a beau, you’ve never even courted a boy? Or been courted?” 

There was a long silence. 

“….Admittedly.” 

Varric chuckled. “Well, congratulations, I guess. From the proficiency and frequency of your flirtations, not a single person in camp would guess.” 

Lavellan scowled. “You have been absolutely no help whatsoever, Varric,” she snapped, storming off in the most dignified way she could manage, her hair streaming behind her as she huffed off, no less uncertain and significantly more frustrated. He teased her. What was wrong with her teasing others the same way? 

-

As was often the case with Lavellan, her bad mood was short lived. That very evening she found herself sitting next to a fire with Solas, assisting him in tanning hides. It had to be done; the shemlen were absolutely useless at it, and the familiar task comforted her, brushed her mixed feelings about Blackwall into the back of her mind. She fell back into her new habits without even thinking about it. 

“Their music shook the ground. These simple, unwashed warriors carried harmonies no Chantry has mastered.” 

Lost in the image his stories always gave her, she murmured, “You have such a way with words, Solas. I believe you could make me think anything.” 

He chuckled. “Oh, I doubt that. You have trained your will to control magic, to withstand possession. You have indomitable focus.” 

She was unable to resist. She smirked up at him. “Indomitable focus? Why, Solas, I had no idea you thought so highly of me,” she purred, hoping to take advantage of his unintended wording to fluster him once more, her second thoughts about the practice completely fled from her mind. She had no such luck, however. Rather than glancing away, his eyes locked onto hers, catching her gaze like a trap. 

“Certainly. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight of that would be… fascinating.”

The heat that filled her face was no slow creep of blush over her cheeks. She instantly felt her pointed ears flaming. How could he say such a thing so seriously?! She kept waiting for him to chuckle, laugh it off as Varric would have, but instead his eyes stayed locked onto hers, a slight smile playing on his lips. It was she who broke contact, her entire face a burning red. She felt as though she was melting the snow around her. If her “indomitable will” hadn’t kept a control over her magic, which tended towards fire in any case, she might have. 

“A-ah…” she choked out, her voice catching in her throat and breaking, making her cough. She busily avoided his eyes as she adjusted herself, pulling he knees up against her chest, feigning cold. She cleared her throat, but had no idea what to say. He had turned the tables on her rather effortlessly, and she began to sympathize with Cullen and how easily he could be rendered speechless. 

-

Solas smirked lightly despite himself as he watched the young “Herald” stumble back towards Haven, her ever-graceful legs rendered suddenly clumsy. This should certainly teach her how it felt to be on the receiving end of flustering attention. Perhaps the men in camp would finally get a restful night’s sleep. It was just as well. With all this sexual tension, the Fade around camp was getting rather… heated. He had meant to teach her the lesson Varric had failed to implant. He suspected he had succeeded, but he hadn’t expected it to be so enjoyable to see her face burn red. The way she stammered her excuse and tripped off had been… an unanticipated side benefit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've seen this kind of a Lavellan before, but mine was an absolute shameless flirt (*coughshewasatotalwhorecough*), since I hadn't started out necessarily intending to romance Solas. She broke poor Blackwall's heart and shamelessly strung Cullen along through the whole game. She hit on Cassandra like a train, bless that poor woman's heart. I hope people enjoy a slightly different take on our Inquisitor. xD 
> 
> This one ran away from me a little. I have a bit more I want to do with this song, so I decided this would be a part one. I don't know when, exactly, I'll revisit it, but I definitely will. 
> 
> Don't worry, Lavellan won't be flustered forever. She is nothing if not determined once she gets an idea in her head. And she doesn't like being shown up, or off guard. :)


	2. S.O.S. [Part 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan has trouble concentrating after a bit of extra attention from Solas, and it winds up getting her into hot water.

Honestly, she probably could have used some time off. Anyone could tell her mind was not all there, after the normally graceful elf tripped down the longest set of stairs in Haven, tumbling head over heels until she thudded to the bottom, severely alarming anyone within hearing range of her elaborate curses. 

The only reason she had tripped in the first place was because Solas, that baldheaded, stupid faced, firmly muscled… Augh! Ever since he’d given her an unexpected taste of her own medicine, she’d been noticing him. Coming over the stairs, she’d seen him practicing staff stances in the courtyard, lithe body moving smoothly from one stance to the next, a tiny rivulet of sweat dripping down his neck, she imagined it running down his back, and the next thing she knew, she smashing herself against stairs, and then found herself ass over end in the middle of Haven, swearing in Common, Elvish, and Dwarven interchangeably. 

Blackwall had been the one to rush over to help, kneeling to help her untangle from her own legs. 

“You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed. He glanced around, his eyes falling on Solas, who had paused in his practicing, no doubt wondering what all the commotion was about. “Solas, come over here, can’t you fix her up?” 

“I am ABSOLUTELY FINE,” Lavellan snapped, bouncing straight to her feet, then falling right back down again. She had sprained her damned ankle. 

“Absolutely, of course you are,” Blackwall said blandly. “Solas?” 

Gods damnit, he was walking over. And was that Leliana, watching at the top of the stairs? People were looking. If she ran away, she’d probably look even more the fool. She tried to summon the Grace-face that Varric had told her about, hiding her emotions behind a mask, but she had shown herself to be terrible at it. 

Blessedly, Solas squatted down next to her and looked her over without speaking. She was just starting to think she’d get through this intact when he lifted her leg up, causing her to lean back against Blackwall, her back pushing into his chest. She could feel him breathe in sharply, but she was too distracted by her leg in the air, Solas’ hands gripping her gently but firmly. Was that really necessary? Solas slid his hands up her leg, most likely examining the extent of the damage, and then rolled up her pant leg, and unwrapped her injured foot with deft hands. Warm hands pressed onto bare flesh, and the warm tingle of his healing spread through her ankle. As soon as he was done, she sat up, moving so quickly that her head almost caught Blackwall on the chin. Face burning, she began to re-wrap her foot, muttering thanks under her breath. At least Blackwall looked just as flushed as she felt. Small blessings. 

It was Josephine who gave her an out, thank all the gods and even the Maker, if he had any hand in it. Lavellan almost never saw her outside the Chantry. 

“That was quite the fall,” the Antivan woman’s accented voice came as she walked gracefully down the steps that had, apparently, been too complicated for the all holy Herald of Andraste. “However, if you are feeling better, I have a matter that I would like to ask you about…” 

Lavellan escaped with her, whispering a quiet word of gratitude as Josephine led her away. 

“Oh, I have been in such positions myself, Herald. Why, just last week, my heel caught on a crack while I was greeting the Baron of…” 

Lavellan let the boring story wash over her. Josephine was full of boring stories. Lavellan suspected it would be more interesting if she knew who the Baron was or why it mattered, but as it was, she was just content to have something to distract her from her own embarrassment. It was then that Josephine suggested postponing the trip to the Hinterlands. 

“No, no… It needs to be done. The fighting needs to be put down, for good. With the information Leliana got us, we can end it, or at least come close. Then maybe we can finally get those damned horses.” 

“Well, if you are sure,” Josephine trailed off, clearly uncertain. Then she smiled, almost a smirk. “Perhaps we should have Solas give you a once over, then, to be sure you are intact?” 

“I am ABSOLUTELY FINE, THANK you, Josephine,” Lavellan said firmly, her ears heating up. 

“If anything, he should look at Blackwall,” drawled Varric from where he sat at a table in the corner. “I could see the blood rushing from every part of his body all the way over here.” 

\---

They did go to the Hinterlands, as she had planned. Normally, she traveled with a small group, but this time she had quite the full party. Iron Bull, Cassandra, Blackwall, Solas, and Varric all accompanied her. Once they got situated, and headed out from one of the Inquisition’s camps, she explained to them the plan in greater detail. 

“Leliana’s gotten us the information on where the local leaders for the mages and Templars are holed up,” she informed them. “But if one hears about an attack on the other, they might move, and I don’t know how long it would take to weed them out again. So we’re going to split up. Three of us will take on the mages, three will take on the Templars.” 

She turned towards the warriors. “Cassandra, you’ll be leading the group taking on the mages. Your ability to shut down magic should be useful. Bull, you’re going with her. Get in fast and hit them hard. Here… This necklace is magical, it will help you smash through their barriers. Blackwall, you’re with me. We’ll be going after the Templars.” 

Cassandra interrupted, looking concerned. “Herald, it’s not wise to send two mages to the Templar’s encampment, their abilities…” 

Lavellan cut her off, looking confused. “What are you talking about? Solas is going with you.” Cassandra blinked. 

“Ah… I had just assumed… Well, normally…” 

Lavellan glared at her a little more than was strictly necessary. She did not want her tendency to stick close to Solas pointed out right then. “Today is hardly a normal outing. Solas will be going with you and Iron Bull. Blackwall, Varric and I will be taking out the Templars.” She cleared her throat. She didn’t feel comfortable giving Solas instructions, but it was kind of her job. “Solas, you know what to do… stay back, keep barriers up on Bull and Cassandra as best you can, and stay out of range of her magic cancelling.” 

“Of course,” he said, his face the kind of perfect mask she could never manage. 

“Blackwall, you’ll need to keep the Templars off Varric and I as best as you can. Get in there and get their attention. Varric, you focus on the ones WITHOUT the giant shields. I can burn them from below, avoid that hassle. Does everyone understand?” 

There were a series of nods. She bit her lip. She was nervous, sending a group off without her. But Solas should be fine, going up against mages, not Templars, and with two strong warriors to keep the attention off of him. “Alright. Let’s move out.” 

\---

Finding the Templars wasn’t difficult. Honestly, she could track a deer with her eyes closed, and these Templar were not subtle. She was able to find the location even though her thoughts were on Cassandra, Bull, and Solas. What if the information was bad, and there were more mercenaries with the mages? What if they approached from a bad angle? 

She shook her head, trying to focus on the here and now. She gazed over a rock at the hastily built wooden walls of a small encampment. “That’s it, for sure,” she said quietly. “Alright. Varric, open fire whenever you’re ready. I’ll bring a wall of fire up their back entrance, then I’ll set the walls up. Blackwall, just charge in. Keep them confused.” 

They all nodded, and then Varric jumped up onto the rock and sent a bolt straight into the chest of one of the Templar archers. That was their sign. Calling deep into the well of her power, she brought a wall of fire up from the ground, two, three, four, six feet tall. No one would be getting out the back. By this time, Templars were beginning to stream out the front entrance, charging Blackwall as he charged them. Seeing archers learning over the wooden walls, Lavellan pulled on her fire again, igniting the dried wood, encouraging the fire to spread unnaturally fast. There were shouts and curses from the men on the walls. 

Blackwall had the attention of several of the Templars, who hadn’t quite figured out where the fire or arrows were coming from yet. Lavellan moved further away from Varric, not wanting to bring attention to him. They could hardly mistake him for a mage, but she felt his bolts were doing more damage at this point. She needed to keep people off of him as much as Blackwall did. She saw a shielded Templar charging towards him, slipping past Blackwalls guard. A bolt scraped against and off of the tower shield as the man charged Varric, sword drawn. Then the ground underneath him was on fire, and so was he. The acrid smell of burning pork filled the air, but the man continued to advance. 

Lavellan focused, dropping a lightning bolt on him from above. Anything to avoid that shield. Finally the man dropped. She breathed a sigh of relief. This was going well… The Templars were supposed to be the hard ones. If they were doing this well, surely Solas – 

She heard Varric’s cry of alarm one second too late. A searing pain split her side as she dodged forward out of instinct. How had one of them gotten up on her flank? He must have been outside the damned fort! She reached for her magic to light him up, but to her dismay, she found she couldn’t. Fucking Templars! With a snarl, she pulled out a dagger, barely parrying a strike from his sword and darting to the side. If she could get back, out of the range of his gods-cursed spell purge… 

She heard another shout from her right, but couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. His sword was lighting up. She couldn’t parry that. She tried to dodge to the side as it came down, but her ankle, not fully healed from earlier, wobbled uneasily, throwing her slightly off balance. The Templar’s blade caught her shoulder, and a scream tore out of her throat. Her shoulder pad had caught the blade, lucky, but alien power surged through her. She could feel the magic ripping out of her veins. Panicked, she tried to throw up a barrier, but there was nothing to grab from. The fucker had smote her! She raised her dagger to defend herself from a follow up blow, when a bolt sunk into the man’s neck. He fell with a gurgle, as Blackwall ran towards her, his last opponent felled. 

Her eyes darted around. Only when she was sure she could see no Templars did she allow herself to fall to her knees. 

“Herald! Herald! _Lethanna!_ ” 

Her head spun. Moreover, she felt empty. This was not a loss of blood, it was a loss of mana. She did not like it. 

“Shit, we need Solas. I don’t think she can heal herself.” 

“I’ll get him, they might need back-up anyway.” It was Varric’s voice. “Get a potion down her throat.” 

Her head was titled it up and the familiar, bitter taste of elfroot filled her mouth. She spluttered. “Swallow, damn you!” Blackwall hissed. She choked it down, somehow. The pain in her shoulder dulled, but the empty feeling was still there. She groaned, letting herself lean against him for a split second of weakness before she scrambled to her feet. 

“You shouldn’t-“ He began, but she interrupted. 

“That Templar was outside the encampment. There could be more. Keep your guard up. With Varric gone and me like this, you’re all we’ve got if more show up.” 

Startled, Blackwall nodded, leaning her up against a rock and then standing in front of her, sword and shield drawn. They would have to go through him, in every sense of the word. 

Lavellan tried to reach for her magic again. She wasn’t particularly talented at healing, but she could stop the bleeding, if she could just… The magic slipped away from her. She was all but completely drained… Shite! Templars… She was very glad that she had chosen to take this route herself now. What if it had been Solas, standing there? She couldn’t have healed him herself, she was no good at it. They would have been in real trouble then. 

The world spun around her, but no more danger reared out of the forest. She and Blackwall both started when they heard heavy footfalls, but it was just their companions. It was Solas she saw first, Varric trailing behind him, then Cassandra and Iron Bull. She let out a long sigh of relief. They were okay. Bull looked a little blackened, but… Her vision blurred, and she let herself sink onto the ground again, groaning. 

She felt hands on her side and moaned, trying to twist away from the unwelcome pain. Someone else grabbed her from the other side, and she felt the warm tingle of Solas’ magic. She could practically taste it, she was so out of magic herself. The pain began to ease. Her vision unblurred. When her eyes focused, Solas was directly over her. When had she been lain flat? She felt his hands graze over her stomach, healing a wound she hadn’t even noticed getting, and then up to her clavicle and shoulder, where the holy smite had struck her. 

The pain was receding rapidly, and she quickly noticed how pale Solas looked. His skin seemed clammy, his pupils were like pinpricks. There was sweat on his brow. Of course, she thought to herself. A battle, then running back, now he’s pouring magic into me. She grunted and tried to push him off, not wanting him to waste more mana on her when she was no longer bleeding out. He pushed her back down, his hand hard against her chest, with perhaps a bit more force than strictly necessary. 

“Hold still, da’len, hold still,” he whispered. “Your strength has been drained. Stay down.” 

“Nnn-“she said, her voice catching in her throat. Bless the man, Blackwall handed her a flask of water. Lavellan drained it, and her voice returned. “I’m fine, hahren.” Why had she called him that? He called her da’len, perhaps it was automatic. “Ma serannas, ar’eth-“ He pushed a hand over her mouth, almost absentmindedly healing a split lip as he did so. His other hand continued to run over her, focusing on her side and shoulder. She flushed. Now he was just being silly. But she kept quiet as he continued going over her. Cassandra helped give her a much needed distraction. 

“What happened?” Her face betrayed her worry. Perhaps all the flirting was paying off, Lavellan thought smugly. 

“We missed a Templar in the woods,” Varric explained. “He came up behind her. He did some weird glowy thing with his sword, and she fell.” 

A growl rolled low in Solas’ throat, too quiet for anyone but Lavellan, roughly six inches away from his face, and Bull, still holding her steady, to hear. Was he mad at the Templar, or her, for being so careless? “She’s been smote,” he said out loud. She hadn’t heard him sound like that since she’d made the mistake of being a typical proud Dalish in front of him. “We need to get her back to Skyhold. Only time in the Fade will help her recover now.” He began slipping a hand under her knees, and she shot up like a bolt. 

“Hahren! I can walk!” she protested. He ignored her. 

“Someone get that hart of hers,” Iron Bull instructed. Apparently today was just the day to ignore Lavellan, she thought darkly to herself. 

“I’m right _here_ ,” she protested. “And I can walk.” 

Finally, Solas acknowledged her. “You need to save your strength, da’len. Being drained of magic leaves you more weary than you realize.” 

“Why are you calling me that,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m not so little…” 

He quirked an eyebrow. “You are less than half my age, da’len. You are the youngest here, easily.” 

“By a lot, actually,” added Bull, absolutely not helping in the least. “I think you might be a full decade younger than the next youngest-“

“Alright, _thank you_ Bull, that’s very helpful,” she snipped. “I guess I’m too young to buy your pints tonight.” 

She had meant it to be a joke, but Solas seemed to be stuck in serious-mode. When was he not? “No drinking. You need rest. When we get… ah, here is Cassandra, with your hart.” Before she could protest, he scooped her up. Iron Bull moved to help, but he clearly had it handled. She hoped her pallor from losing blood kept her from flushing too red. The muscles she had suddenly begun noticing on him were clearly well used. He settled her onto the Hart effortlessly. Blackwall moved up to take the reins. 

“Just rest, da’len.” 

She sighed. She might as well do as he said. He would clearly allow her to do nothing else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the song for these two was Rihanna's S.O.S., in case anyone was wondering. (None of you were. I know. I understand, falen.) 
> 
> Grace-face is a reference to Wicked Grace, which is pretty clearly the poker of Dragon Age. 
> 
> I sincerely hope at least one of you has a foot fetish and Solas sticking her leg into the air was gratifying for someone other than Blackwall. 
> 
> I am BAD at action scenes... this tested my stamina. I'm not sure if there will be a part 3 for S.O.S. I don't think so; this little storyline can skip forward a bit and pick up with a different song title. Thank you all for indulging my shamelessness.


End file.
